


Stretched thin

by SinNotAlone



Series: Niche Kink November [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub, Gauging, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Pain, Threats of humiliation, niche kink november
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: Fill for day one of Niche Kink November: Body-mod/Piercing. Hux guides Ben's modification.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s go NKN! I’m greedy and put one of my favorite kinks as day one. (It was not all selfishness. I also thought it might be good to ease into things with some slightly more socially acceptable kinks.)
> 
> View the whole kink list [here](https://sinnotalone.tumblr.com/post/151322332363/some-of-us-here-in-kylux-hard-kinks-land-were-a).

The fifteenth of May. Not summer yet but the winter coats hang in the back of the closet. Short sleeves and short hems appeared on the insensate weeks ago. Now even the cold-blooded have followed suit. Soon a breeze through the open window will no longer suffice to regulate the temperature. Parsimony requires they suffer a little longer before succumbing to the AC.

The golden afternoon stretches for endless hours this time of year. It radiates in the bay window and warms the upholstery, sets red hair aflame. Hux reclines on the couch, in the stream of light, indulging his feline affinity for indoor sunbathing. His left arm is thrown over his head, while his right cradles the object of his constant attention, his mobile phone.

Ben picks his way across the living room and toward Hux. He maneuvers around stuffed mice and shiny balls of tinsel, tools to exhaust Hux’s carnivorous companion. His dance to find clean carpet results in a meandering route, but Hux doesn’t cast a glance in his direction. His focus is entrenched as he scrolls through email after email.

Hux’s spread legs form a bolster for the slumbering cat, though they leave little room for company. Ben perches himself on the edge of the couch, a few square inches of cushion suffice. His thighs are strong and hold his half-squat; he’s managed with less before. A cautious hand creeps toward Millie. Ben tempers his desire to feel her soft fur under his fingertips. She requires ample coaxing to accept affection from anyone but Hux. To his disappointment but not his surprise, Ben is able to run all two fingers up and over the crown of her head before she harrumphs off the couch, tail wagging.

Hux looks up from his phone and quirks an eyebrow. Ben knows he must be cycling through his list of casual critiques. “A little warm for a sweater, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine,” Ben mumbles. He wears a worn pullover, faded grey, practically molting with pills. The once tightly knit fabric is stretched into a rippling border at the hem. He’s had it since college, refuses to part with it, though Hux has designated it an “only at home” garment.

“We need to leave in 20 minutes. Why don’t you get changed?” Hux directs.

“I’m fine,” Ben repeats. He’s shaved and shod, with wallet and keys resting in his pocket.  

The other eyebrow joins the first, in that look of harried disbelief that so suits Hux. “Ben, even if you were allowed to wear that sweater outside the house, you can’t on a day like this. You’ll be a cranky, sweaty mess if you don’t change. So let me rephrase that. We’re going back into the bedroom, and you’re putting on a different shirt. ”

The look of meek defiance quickly fades from Ben’s face; his hard brown eyes soften. Hux’s heel digs into his back, encouraging Ben up and off the couch. When he rises, Hux follows close behind. He shadows him down the hall to their bedroom, edging into his personal space so Ben cannot tarry on a single step.

Hux pulls open the top drawer of Ben’s dresser and retrieves a heathered blue t-shirt. He holds it out to Ben and says, “Let’s get you changed.”

Hux does him a cruel courtesy. The shirt he proffers used to be one Ben’s favorites. The cotton is so soft it flows like liquid against his skin. But it’s thin, almost translucent in its well-worn comfort, not like the bulky sweater Ben donned for protection. He fiddles with a loose piece of yarn at the cuff, splitting the plies and then rolling them back together between forefinger and thumb.  

“Take it off. Now Ben. Stop stalling.” Hux is every bit the vexed caretaker.  

In one swift motion, like a dive into a frigid lake, Ben pulls the sweater over his head. But the room isn’t a cold shock to his senses, in fact it’s quite the opposite. He’d been perspiring in his stubbornness, and it’s a relief to his skin, if not to his nerves, to remove the sweater. He wads it up and throws it in the hamper. After it’s washed it will join the rest of his winter clothes, lying in wait for crisp air to return.

Hux empties his hands of the t-shirt and reaches forward to toy with the titanium rings that gleam in each of Ben’s nipples. They instantly tighten as Hux’s brusque fingers roll the rings back and forth, sliding them through the pierced skin. It’s a smooth glide, skin yielding to metal. He tugs lightly, drawing Ben’s areolas into peaks. Ben doesn’t follow the pull, instead he braces against it. He draws his shoulders back, but the twinge of pain isn’t near enough.

Hux asks, “How long has it been now? Three months at least. Are they still sore? Even a little?”

“No.” Ben is honest. Hux has been cautious with them while they healed. Ben misses the hurt he used to supply, twisting and pinching until his nipples were raw. He misses the way they chafed against his shirt the day after, a subtle reminder as he went about his work. They barely got a rest before Hux deemed them ready for more abuse. But since he’s had them done, Hux’s mildness has been a disappointment. Hux claims he does not want to disturb his work in progress. The only attention they have received is from Hux’s rough tongue laving over Ben’s tender skin, his saliva a stinging balm. Ben hopes the time has come for more than a quick inspection.

A sly smile breaks through Hux’s poker face. “Good. It’s time then. I want them a bigger, nice thick rings through each. Big enough that there’s no mistaking why you’re wearing them.”

Ben looks down at his chest, at the half-inch loops of metal that pass through his flesh. The rings don’t seem so small; they’re considerably thicker than the earrings his mother kept in her jewelry box. Hux had requested he be pierced with a twelve gauge, when the man at the shop had recommended a fourteen.

Hux turns and fishes a little bag out of his sock drawer. It’s transparent material reveals four rings, which he pours into the palm of his hand. Two are a fraction thicker than the rings Ben now wears, the other two almost double the thickness. Hux separates the matching sets and puts the bigger back in the bag. Before he hands off the rings to Ben, he makes a detour to the bathroom and returns with a tube of antiseptic cream.

“Here.” Hux holds out his hand, attempting nonchalance, but his eyes have grown wide with anticipation. Ben accepts the items. He stares at his hand like he’s inspecting an unusual specimen, observing with curiosity but afraid to disturb it.

“Put them in,” Hux spurs.

“Now?” Ben chews his lip. It’s a question that doesn’t need to be asked, and the short delay it buys is not worth the exasperation it incites.

With a roll of his eyes, Hux lectures, “Yes of course now. We don’t have all afternoon, and if we’re going to work you up to something bigger we need to get started. Do you need me to hold your hand? Need me to do it for you? Come on Ben, be a big boy. We both know you going to do as I say, whether you like it or not, so stop wasting time. ”

Ben shakes his head in apology, the soft tips of his hair brushing bare shoulders. He’s tempted to let the hair fall to curtain his face, but he knows Hux doesn’t take kindly to cowardice. So he sits on the edge of the bed and places the equipment next to him, setting the items down one-by-one so none manage to escape onto the floor.

Holding his right nipple steady with his left hand, he pops the bead out from where it is held under tension. It’s a practiced gesture, his hand cupped to catch the bead in case it falls. He rotates the ring out of the hole. It goes easy, and when it’s gone, the distorted skin of his nipple looks odd without something to fill it. It’s healed well enough that the flared edges of the hole are going on white, but the hole gapes around nothing.

The next ring follows suit, and he sets them down to pick up the supplies. His nose wrinkles at the sour smell of the antiseptic cream. It reminds him of playground-scraped knees and nurses offices. He applies a dot of it to the metal and slicks it along the curve. The slippery substance causes a bead to escape, but Ben is able to ferret it from the folds of his pants with only minor palpitations.

When Ben presses the ring against the hole, it slides right in, the tapered edge easing the way. Past the tip the struggle begins. He forces it along, little by little, and it drags his skin with it, puckering at the entrance. His nipple feels like it’s being turned inside out. The other end of the ring is nowhere to be seen. The pain isn’t as intense as when he tried to move the rings in freshly pierced holes, but he knows he’ll be raw after this.

Ben pauses. His sweaty hands are losing grip. He wipes them on the bedspread. The deep breaths through his nose aim to steady his nerve, but all they succeed in is making him light headed. He knows he needs a different approach. He pinches the areola between thumb and forefinger, hopes pressure in the opposing direction will help the ring to crown.

“That’s it. Keep going Ben,” Hux commends. Ben looks up to see Hux’s lips damp with saliva, a little redder than the usual bloodless pink. The outline of Hux’s solid cock is visible, straining against the denim of his pants. One hand runs over his jawline, the other teases his length through the fabric. He makes no attempt free his cock or relieve his condition. His eyes are fixed on Ben’s hands.

Ben pushes on. When the tip finally appears at the other side of the channel, there is a little blood streaking the metal. Ben’s own cock starts to fill out at the site of it. One last pinch of the areola to steady his tug ring and the ring is through. Ben let’s his shoulders drop forward. He savors the sting that penetrates his haze of self-congratulation, before he realizes he must enact the process with his left nipple. There is no way Hux will allow him to be lopsided.

Hux coaxes him once more. “Halfway there. Show me the other one now. I want to see you with the matched set.”

Ben knows what to expect this time. He knows his nipple isn’t going to tear, despite the distinct feeling that it could. He knows he needs to hold his skin still while he plows on, insistent consistent pressure with the metal. He doesn’t stop or allow himself a break to catch his breath. The final stretch before the tug of war ends has his cock pulsing along with the burn.

“I’d forgotten how pretty they look all red and weeping. So flushed, like proper tits.” Hux closes in, and a possessive hand fondles the new rings. For fingers so thin they do not lack in strength. He twists the metal and Ben swallows his whimper. He revels in the sting, the throb of his cock is echoed in the tips of his nipples.

“How does two weeks sound, before we move you up to the next set?” Ben sucks on his bottom lip and stays silent. He knows Hux won’t push it if he’s still sore, but two weeks doesn’t sound like much.

Hux evidently doesn’t require Ben’s input, because he leaves him sitting dumb and hard. He retrieves the controversial t-shirt and hands it to Ben, no questions, no commands, just silent expectation. When Ben puts it on, it’s just as he imagined it would be. The fabric shows every rib, every ridge. It shows the little mounds of each ring below the peaks of his nipples.

The quick raise of Hux’s eyebrows and the nod of approval communicate all Ben needs to know. “Now you’re ready to go,” Hux says, leading the way to the door. As he turns the door knob he continues, “Wonder which people will notice first, the tent in your pants or your tits?”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me about Niche Kink November on [my Tumblr](http://sinnotalone.tumblr.com).


End file.
